


Champion

by TheLadyMuse



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (but rises harder and stronger), Also fuck Rhaegar, Anal Sex, Arya doesn't, BAMF Talla Tarly, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gendry is the Storm King, He doesn't like it, I'm pretty sure, Incest, M/M, Robb fucks Jon where Catelyn can hear, Sansa likes being pregnant, The Iron Islanders are soft krakens, The North has agency laws, The North is based on the Celts, The North remembers, What is Dead May Never Die, Which I am descended from, You've been warned, also, and clearly states that a Sept marriage is crap, fuck him on a godsdamned pole, gay mating is a Thing, it was just time to interfere, kind of, lots of active CATELYN BASHING, lots of incest, lots of sex alluded to, marriage as mating is a thing because Starks, ours is the fury, really - Freeform, so fuck the Andals, the gods love their stupid humans, the pack survives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 12:35:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20966654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyMuse/pseuds/TheLadyMuse
Summary: What, exactly, are you supposed to do when the gods tell you to Make It Right?If you're a First Man, you fuck your way through life, because the Gods like nothing better than happy supplicants and the attendant babies of happy unions.If you're an Andal?Well...Sorry, you're probably going to end up dead.





	1. Born wild and free

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of fics inspired different facets of this, and even a couple of show clips. I will do my best to link everything, and explain where I deviate from canon or insert some Celtic custom (or my own made up ones).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.

y Surveying the Iron Throne with distaste, Robert turned when he heard the scrape of leather on stone. He turned to see a somewhat cleaned up Ned, Jaime fucking Lannister a step behind him. Ned's solemn, grey direwolf padded around to the man's other side.

When Ned didn't say anything, Robert frowned.

"Where's Lyanna?" Tucking a lock of hair behind his ear as Lannister braced himself, Ned answered steadily

"Alive. In the North." Brightening, Robert exclaimed

"Great! She can come here-" Ned cut him off.

"She can't." Before Robert could object, Ned continued

"There was a babe. Rhaegar coerced the Kingsguard into keeping her prisoner. Benjen wrote to say she'd mated before the Heart Tree."

Furious, Robert demanded

"A babe?! It needs to die! I swore there would be no dragonspawn! And Lyanna's meant to be mine!" Lannister's lip curls as Robert forgets that Elia Martell and her children were after the Lion hunted the pyromancers. Ned's stony face is unmoved as he replies curtly

"Lyanna foiled Rhaegar's attempts by laying with one of the Kingsguard. Besides-" Crossing his arms, Ned counters Roberts' last point with a disgusted

"Do you know how many laws my father broke writing that betrothal?" Robert can feel his face flushing, and a yell builds in his throat when Ned says

"Several. Because his greed blinded him." Lannister clucks disapprovingly and derides

"As if you could be enough for a daughter of the First Men." Roaring, Robert goes to cross the room and thrash both men, only for the damn direwolf to dart forward, growling.

Lannister snickers, waving as he and Ned leave the Throne room, still growling direwolf backing away.

-

Jaime's enjoying the sail North. A handful of Ironborn warships had met them at King's Landing, enough to ferry all of the Northmen, their horses and the smattering of others with them before Robert was crowned or named himself Regent. Whichever. A quick stop in Dorne to release the 'missing' King, his mother, sister and said sister's cat and they'd made for White Harbour.

Brandon Stark, the Stark who'd disappeared long enough for his younger brother to marry the elder Tully sister, waited for them. After greeting the men, he hugged his younger brother and told Jaime.

"Your brother has made himself comfortable in Winterfell. Shiera wrote, saying Ben is hard-pressed to get him to leave the library." Nodding, Jaime strides off to find a raven and a meal.

Ned, on the other hand, frowns, as his elder brother has squished him to his chest in a way he hasn't since they were boys. Gently, Brandon guides his brothers' head to rest on his shoulder, whispering near soundlessly.

"Lya and Arthur mated before they had Jon, but they're planning on a witnessed ceremony. Cat's trying to kick up trouble, and Shy hates her. Robert's been sending ravens, and Ben's shut up about the Black. I'm giving him Moat Cailin and Lya's family Sea Dragon Point." Sagging against his brother, Ned whined, asking without speaking.

Effortlessly hoisting him up, Brandon promised.

"I'll take care of you."

Only after bathing Ned and hushing him with kisses does Brandon rut between his thighs, grunting as he releases. There is time enough, now, to get Ned safely behind Winterfell's walls before fucking his little brother until he can't walk. They talk, low murmurs passing between them before they pass into sleep.

-

Coming home to Winterfell is a bittersweet joy for Ned. His father is gone, but his brothers and sister are well. His goodbrother and goodsister are within, safe in the heart of the North, keeping Lya and Ben's hearts safe. He meets his son, Robb, who is the same as the first time he lived this life, and yet who greets Brandon more enthusiastically than he'd have thought. With a wink, Brandon scoops up the boy who is their heir, exiting the room so Ned can speak to his wife.

Ugh.

Convincing her to let him back into her bed is easy, mostly because he knows she wants a Sept built and Septa and Septon sent from the Sept of Baelor. It's not going to happen, Brandon is the Lord, and he would never give such a gift to the woman he calls an 'upstart Andal whore'. Perhaps hearing the way Brandon refers to his wife this way would have upset Ned, once, but not now. Not now, when he's seen what Southron influence wrought for his children.

Leaving the floppy fish where she lays, Ned goes to Brandon, having spent himself but not truly sated. As he'd suspected, Lya and Arthur have Jon and Robb on their laps in the family sitting room, and Brandon is awaiting him in what used to be their father's chambers. The bed has been turned down, and the fire roars. The moment he closes the door, Brandon is on him, wrestling him out of every layer of clothing and kissing like it's the end of the world if they don't.

He's soon enough panting as he rides his brother, his mate, taking his cock as if he never stopped, and Brandon- Brandon is crooning praises when he's not growling into Ned's skin, hands buried in his hair and thrusting so hard Ned's sure he'll shatter. It's over in a spray of star fire behind his eyes as he collapses into Brandon's warm embrace, and all is well.

-

Catelyn is almost four months gone with another child.

With Brandon unlike to marry (oh, how it had burned that she'd settled for a second son while the first lived, but his disinterest in marrying soothed her ire- her son would still inherit), she needed to see to her son's education on the Faith. As he was with his nanny and cousin, she trudged her way to the Lord's Solar, noting the changes she should suggest to her husband.

Ned is busying himself with scrolls across from Brandon when she enters after being told. 

"Come."

On the hearth lay a pair of direwolves, who eye her curiously. Ignoring them, she asks sternly.

"When are you building a Sept?"

(Brandon is very thoroughly _not _impressed with that strident demand)

Her goodbrother blinks and then says coldly.

"Sit."

He stares at her so long, so coldly that she fidgets. When she thinks to open her mouth, he asks with a frighteningly cold, calm

"What do you think your role is?" Catelyn stares, forgetting her fear to burst out

"I am your brother's lady wife!"

Brandon's' lips curl into a cruelly, wolfish smile. Her heart sinks, but she barrels on.

"And I demand the respect due to my station!" It's only a moment, then she feels Ned's hand to the back of her neck, hears him growl

"One more word and I confine you to your chambers." Shocked, Catelyn would protest, except Brandon tells her

"In the North, a marriage in a Sept is not a real marriage. Your children are Starks, because we don't hold with the bastardy of the South, but you are just a Tully, just an upstart Andal whore my brother, my mate, beds to gain us, heirs. You were, upon your marriage, sold to us as a chattel, and we will use you as we see fit."

He leans back, grinning nastily, his final words what make the nightmare real.

"There will be no Sept, Septa or Septon in the North. Our ancestors swore it when the Andals invaded. The Faith of the Seven will never be permitted anywhere in the Godslands. You try to ask again, and you will not see your children again." Hands dropping to her belly, Catelyn splutters, only half hearing Brandon's

"That's what wet-nurses are for." while Ned calls for a guard to escort her to her chambers.

-

The people of the North know they shouldn't enjoy Lady Catelyn's treatment. She's shunned away from most members of the household, her time with her children limited, more and more as they age into proper Northlords and Princesses of Winter. Other children have come, of course. Gendry Storm, a bastard boy, born the same year as Jon Dayne, is Lady Arya's most adored companion, an adoration shared by her direwolf, Nymeria. Theon Greyjoy had arrived after his uncle Euron was exiled and had quickly fallen into step with the young lords, gaining Lady Sansa's favour by teaching archery and knife throwing to those who wished to learn.

The three Tarly children make the trek northward, sometime after Lord Jon's fourteenth nameday, to foster at Moat Cailin, while Meera and Jojen Reed are welcomed to Winterfell by Lord Bran. Rickon Stark takes a guard and goes to fetch Lyanna Mormont from Bear Island himself, taking her hand with the laughing blessings of the Lady's cousin.

But Lady Catelyn's loss of her children is made apparent to all when Robb announces he is taking his cousin as his mate, which her other eldest children follow with their own declarations of mating.

-

The day the notice for Winterfell's Attraengatt arrives by raven, there is a myriad of replies.

On Pyke, Victarion Greyjoy, winner of the previous Kingsmoot, gathers his family and announces they'll go. With the exception of Aethon Greyjoy, Victarion's right hand, most of Houses Greyjoy and Harlaw prepare to go. Maron and Rodrik snicker over their brother getting married, but their cousin Steffon Harlaw, son of their wild Aunt Hessa, knocks their heads together, growling a warning.

In Dorne, Rhaenys Targaryen huffs at the letter, penning a blunt reply not only to House Stark but the Master-at-Arms of Moat Cailin- Jaime Lannister. Her brother manages to hide his sniggers, staring soppily at the Sand Snake in his lap. Elia smirks from her place bracketed by her still overprotective brothers, knowing that despite their wishes, she'll be in Winterfell.

Bronze Yohn rolls his eyes over his daughter, twittering over the marriage prospects in the North. He knows more than a few First Men Houses in Westeros will be at the Attraengatt, including the Blackwoods...

He should bring Brynden, on the chance the Blackwood he'd loved as a youth is there. Waymar and Robar are comparing the reputations of various First Men ladies, and who should be a lady of Runestone.

Edmure receives the notice after tucking his toddler into bed. Edwyle Tully is his only son... the son that had been threatened to force him to surrender Riverrun. When he had been returned to Edmure in the form of a motherless bastard, the Tully heir had insisted on using his own Blackwood heritage to legitimize his son as his heir, his marriage contingent on finding a woman who could love his son. Knowing now that he was meant to be a father, not a warrior, he poured all his love into his tiny son. Not that he didn't train, just that he did it while Edwyle was occupied or napping. Sighing, he tells his father that he will take his son and attend, surprising Hoster.

Stannis Baratheon wishes Selyse wasn't insisting they go, try to find Shireen a match. Because it is a First Men gathering, and the likelihood that _she _will be there- she being Hessa Harlaw, the woman he'd bedded at Harrenhal- it hurts. He hadn't _wanted _to marry Selyse, but even if he could find Hessa, she wouldn't consolidate Robert's power as Selyse Florent had. Still, he prepares to leave Dragonstone no matter his dread.

Storm's End is dreadfully chaotic. Loras had been summoned home not long after the Reach had received their notice. As Renly's not blind, he's in a snit, trying desperately to ignore that Lady Olenna doubtlessly wants to match Loras, _his _Loras, to a suitable Northman. It hurts, literally and figuratively, that he's going to lose the man he loves long before he ever thought he needed to.

Melessa and Randyll Tarly are not... not happy that they must travel so far to see their children, but not sad, either. By all Sam's dutiful, monthly reports, Dickon is in strategy talks with Robb Stark when Sam is sparring with Jon Dayne, and Talla sews and rides with the nieces of the Lord Paramount.

Tywin had originally not intended to go, and then Jaime writes, says that there's a woman who wishes to wed him, one he does not object to. The messenger who brought Jaime's message is his closest friend, Ser Addam Marbrand, a man with long-burning red hair and scars, but kind eyes when he speaks to the young Lannisters. It's Addam's endorsement of how Jaime has grown that nudges Tywin to visit his son, towing along his granddaughters and grandson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attraengatt: a mating festival. In the North, it happens when all eligible members of a House are having ceremonies. The South mistranslated it as a 'marriage' festival to find prospective spouses.
> 
> What inspired Theonsa and influenced my Victarion characterization: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14176137  
What influenced my opinion of Edmure being a Dad TM: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159730  
What influenced the way the First Men & Ironborn interact with the gods: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20698097  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20710106  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695670  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20803124


	2. Weave, roam, but always go home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People begin to arrive for the Attraengatt. Benjen is Lord of Moat Cailin, Catelyn is TRYING, and the North still remembers

By nature, Shiera Stark is an early riser.

Or she would be if her mother's Valyrian blood hadn't diluted her crannogman fathers' Marsh King stock.

And if she sometimes curses Serenei Rivers for making her freeze her ass off, Benjen and Shako, his direwolf, pretend not to notice.

When her husband sends her with an escort to Winterfell, she goes.

Not happily, but she goes.

The Riverlands might be the grey area between the godlands and the godless waste of the rest of Westeros, but the godlands gate might as well be Moat Cailin, a fortress that had not fallen in eight thousand years and had always been manned by a Stark and their mate.

With the Attraengatt looming, this is where Robert Baratheon will have to swear his oaths in the godstongue so that if he were to break them, he and his people would become forsworn of the gods. 

Fucking heathens.

Benjen will be able to focus with her far from this place, with her Targaryen pale skin and hair, grey-green eyes the only mark of her father. 

So she rides to Winterfell on the back of the horse Brandon had gifted her for her last nameday. On arrival, she breezes into the courtyard where her nephews are sparring. In contrast, the younger ones have an archery lesson under the gentle tutelage of Theon Greyjoy. A stableboy collects her horse, and Ned is there to catch her as she dismounts, leading her to the ladies solar where his daughters have occupied themselves.

-

Sansa is busy with some last-minute stitchery when her Sire leads her Aunt Shiera in, promising to send a servant with some food and drink before he returns to his work. Arya is across from her, muttering to herself as she works a loom with efficient movements. Talla Tarly is embroidering a large piece of fabric, the riot of colour taking shape with every stitch. Lyanna Mormont and Meera Reed are kneeling on the floor, sorting furs and lengths of wool for making thick cloaks for the Guardsmen who have yet to prepare for winter.

After greetings are over with, Aunt Shiera is situated with a pile of threads and cloths and furs to make suitable clothing for both her and Uncle Benjen. It's nice, chatting with Aunt Shiera as they sew. The 'King's visit is several sennights away, and her practical aunt approves Sansa's scheme to outfit the people of Winterfell and Wintertown by then. Meera and Arya preen under the older crannogwoman's praises, and Lyanna and Talla, no longer strangers to this ethereal, fragile woman, make no bones about demanding praises of their own.

When Sansa and Arya's Mother creeps into the solar, suggesting she might help with marriage cloaks, all the younger ladies notice how Shiera's lips purse and her teeth grind. Benjen Stark's marriage to a bastard crannogwoman descended of Shiera Seastar is well known across the North, now, when he's the Lord Commander of Moat Cailin and the Garrison stationed there. From their earliest days as goodsisters, Catelyn had thought herself above Benjen's bride, had openly ignored or snubbed Shiera to the point that _no one _blamed the youngest Lady Stark for her hatred of the eldest.

Ignoring Shiera's irritation, Sansa gestured to a chair and informed her Mother.

"We've finished the mating shrouds, and Aunt Shiera's just got to finish her and Uncle Benjen's cloaks and presentation garments. Arya's working on the cloth for the clothing we're crafting for the smallfolk." Catelyn teeters for a moment, then asks

"Mating... shrouds?"

Shiera's snicker resounds throughout the room, but only Catelyn reacts, glaring as she sits in the chair Sansa had indicated. It's Arya, who explains in broad, blunt strokes, what precisely a mating shroud is for and why the North doesn't use marriage cloaks.

("We're wolves, Mother, we mate for life and even after, gods willing")

Catelyn swoons when she hears what will happen during the claiming ceremonies, which amuses the girls, and when she's opened her eyes again, the world has moved on, her daughters discussing how best to clothe the smallfolk while their aunt sips at the wine in her hand. Lyanna comes in not long later, another wineskin in her hand and laughter on her lips when her nieces greet her enthusiastically.

Saella, Lyanna's direwolf, goes to the hearth where Lady Fang and Queen Nymeria, Sansa and Arya's direwolf pups nestled together, the older she-wolf sniffing the pups before bathing them.

-

Theon leaves with the next dawn, off to fetch his kin from the harbour at Deepwood Motte, his students heartbroken at his betrayal. Robb and Jon share deep laughs when the youngest Stark, Barthogan, wailed that he would never learn to shoot without Theon.

Of course, all is well when Theon returns within the sennight, his entire family laughing uproariously when the littlest Starks gleefully bury him in a puppy pile like those of their direwolf companions. Asha clutches her son close as she giggles, letting the squirmy little boy down, laughter turning to howls when little Maekon Harlaw dashes forward, screeching about 'rescuing' his Uncle.

Sansa had stood back while her mate greeted his students, but she had quickly gotten caught up in embraces from the Greyjoy and Harlaw women, Alannys, Asha and Hessa, all having met her before. Victarion pulled her into a one-armed squeeze as Steffon Harlaw waded out from behind his family to greet his cousin Gendry. Both men clapping each other on the back as they embraced, Arya was delighted to evade capture for a hug of her own, only to trip into Gendry's arms.

Brandon and Eddard greet the Ironborn warmly, a King and his Consort to a fellow King. Silver and Storm, their direwolves, herd the younger ones into the great hall, snuffling at the yipping direwolf puppies who were barely bigger than their masters. Grey Wind and Ghost, who had been lounging at the far end of the courtyard, had been pressed into action by the older males, dutifully doling out gentle nips when the children and puppies refused to do as they were told.

Lady and Nymeria nose around from where Sansa and Arya had left them, howling when a Guard shouts

"Tully banners on the horizon!"

-

Brynden is surprised at his reception in Winterfell.

But first, _the North. _

His experience had begun at Moat Cailin, where he was greeted coolly by Lord Commander Benjen Stark. He'd been surprised at the stylized black-on-white Stark banner snapping in the breeze and was surprised by the bronze-on-red Lannister lion and the white-on-red Whent bat that flanked it. Stark had met him, Edmure and their men with bread, salt and a scroll written in what he'd referred to as the 'godstongue.' Jaime Lannister (and Oswell fucking Whent!) had both stared him down when he'd objected to swearing a 'gods oath' as he _knew _it wasn't of the Seven.

"Oh, do be quiet, Uncle, they wouldn't harm us, if only so that Edwyle will not be without family." Edmure's impatient snap is shocking. More so, when Edmure calls for his son and the boy's nanny, explaining the custom to the child.

They're let through soon enough, but Brynden's still in shock from seeing Oswell and finding Edmure so changed.

Riding through the North to Winterfell becomes quietly routine until they approach the massive castle. Where three stylized banners also snap in the wind above the castle. A grey-on-white snarling direwolf, deliberately styled to look savage, flanked by the same flag as Lord Commander Stark and a full direwolf howling at a falling star.

More surprises come in the form of the banners signalling who resides within. Among them were the screaming Manderly mermaid shaking its trident, a silver on deep gray Baratheon stag, a scythe, a handful of Krakens, and even a flag he didn't think was Westerosi.

Cat is nowhere to be found, but there are several Ironborn, and the many Stark children are eager to meet him.

Edmure and Edwyle are quickly excused as the boy needs a nap, and Edmure would benefit from one himself.

Finally, Brynden asks when the Atraengatt will happen, and if they can find a bride for Edmure.

Sansa, Cat's eldest girl, says carefully, "Nuncle, the matings have already been made, if Nuncle Edmure finds a mate while he's here, that's grand, but most are only here to witness the ceremonies we've already planned."

It's embarrassing, to say the least.

-

_I am Talla Tarly of Horn Hill, daughter of the line of Garth Greenhand. I AM a Princess of Autumn, and I have every right to do what I am about to do. Not even my father can stop me. My brothers wouldn't dare._

Head held high, Talla strode briskly to the arms yard, watching the Greyjoys practice their aim.

When Rodrik felt her eyes on him, he glanced up, and when she nodded, his own eyes widened.

Hastily making his excuses as Talla walked away, Rodrik hurried after the Reachwoman, calling.

"Talla!" When she didn't turn around. When he had, when he'd asked her to acknowledge him, she whirled around, her skirts fluttering before they settled.

She smiled, not the soft, gentle smile she so often gave her brothers.

No, this was the smile of a descendant of Florys the Fox, a tricksters' grin that said _don't you dare mess with me. _

"Rodrik." Talla drawled, stepping back before she plucked up her skirts and dashed away in a single moment, laughing when she heard him give chase.

Arya was right; this was _fun!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the Manderly sigil a bit. Instead of a merman standing tall and calm (like a fucking Southroner), the Manderly's integrated entirely into the North, choosing to raise a screaming merman to display who they'll be for their people.


	3. Dance the night away (you and me and make it sweet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of feasting and swearing vows.

Cloak fluttering around his shoulders, Benjen stood on the battlements, watching the Baratheon/Lannister contingent arrive, and knew the moment they spotted his fortified keep. The yells of surprise were clear enough. Turning on his heel, the Stark of Moat Cailin gestured for his men to attend him. Jaime grinned, and Oswell chuffed, both clattering their armour as they descended to the courtyard before him.

-

Moat Cailin _perturbed _Robert.

It was a grand old keep, flying Stark, Lannister and Whent banners, each modified to fit the men being announced as they descended from the battlements by a man in Stark livery.

"Lord Oswell Whent, Steward of Moat Cailin! Lord Jaime Lannister, Master at Arms of the Northern Garrison! Lord Commander of Moat Cailin, Benjen Stark!" Lyanna's youngest brother was not only preceded by his servants but a direwolf that seemed to pad lazily out from under the steps that led to the allures. The Stark himself wore long dark hair pulled off his face, his black and white direwolf plain against the grey of his tunic.

Serious grey eyes met Roberts' as a hand rested on his sword.

"Robert Baratheon, Demon of the Trident." Robert nods, growling when Jaime Lannister stations himself to Stark's right, Whent to his left, the Lannister prick saying with easy ceremony

"You'll have to swear an oath to enter the godlands." Benjen inclines his head through Robert's growls and says clearly

"Yes, he will. The men have orders to shoot to kill, and Jaime and Oswell know better than to let any of you leave into the North." Barristan Selmy, who'd been shocked into silence upon seeing his former brothers, went to protest, only for Benjen to say sharply

"You and yours are pretenders to a Throne that still has heirs, Baratheon. Either you leave now, or you swear the gods' oath to attend the Attraengatt and harm none, or I command my men to massacre your party for an invasion of the godlands." He pauses and says deliberately

"As is my right as a descendant of Brandon the Builder, first King in the North."

-

Jaime struggles not to show that he's unnerved by his sister's appearance, that he's got something to lose. He _knows _Benjen, a beloved member of House Stark and a mated man, has more to lose than he or Oswell, but just this once, he allows himself to remember that he's not selfish for thinking of those who don't want to lose _him. _The men had agreed to spare Myrcella and Tommen if they could. Only it wasn't Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen anymore.

Joanna, Princess of Westeros, was Cersei's oldest, blonde beauty. Her twin, Myrcella, seems much the same as she was, but Tommen is most changed. Now the Heir, Robert and Cersei wish, he's had all his gentleness beaten out of him, the poor lad.

From above, Jaime hears the sound of a bowstring being drawn. He glanced up to see his oldest friend aiming an arrow at his goodbrother. Beside, Addam is a Northman, who has an arrow nocked but has yet to pull the string.

In the end, all the bluster is unneeded; Robert takes the oath in the old tongue, grumbling at the odd sounds.

Benjen's rare, wolfish smile is enough for Jaime.

They ride for Winterfell on the next dawn, Jaime serving as a scout to delight in his sister's fierce scowls when he cannot talk to her.

He's _busy, _can't she see?

(And not in love with her, not anymore)

-

Elia laughs at her daughters' impatience.

The Dornish part had arrived within days of the Ironborn, and all settled in as firm friends. Jon Dayne, in particular, was a favourite of her children, his mate watchful but not interfering in Aegon and Jon making friends.

Rhaenys, of course, wanted Jaime.

Jaime, who was riding with the Pretender and his former lover, whom every First Man knew he regretted.

So, of course, Rhaenys is anxious.

Thank the gods the young Winter Princesses have the good sense to draw Rhaenys into their more practical tasks- with Talla Tarly mating Rodrik Greyjoy, there is so much preparation to do- and Rhaenys quiets long enough for Jaime to _arrive._

-

Shiera watches the organized chaos with glee.

Everyone had been prepared for _weeks, _and she, at least, knows this, knows it well.

She misses Ben, misses his warmth and his scent, his kiss and his touch.

It's not long now, but she could go mad with wanting.

Sansa finds her, pulling her back to the ladies solar to get her into a new dress. 

"Because Nuncle Benjen will like it!" the girl squeals, and her sister and goodsisters fuss about Shiera having a wreath of winter roses just as they do. All, of course, crafted by Arya's Gendry and their right to wear them was written into the treaty Torrhen had signed when he knelt.

So she's standing with Brandon and Ned, while their guests mill behind them.

-

Her first glimpse of House Stark displeases Cersei greatly.

The men are cloaked in dark wools and furs, wear blank faces as naturally as she wears perfume.

And the women!

A slender, Targaryen fair woman with a tiara of roses looked to Benjen Stark with a soft smile, while a handful of twittering girls in similar crowns had arranged themselves in order of some sort.

Of course, the one that looked like Benjen, therefore, most likely his niece Arya, caused Robert's jaw to drop.

Cersei could admit the girl recalled a great deal of Lyanna Stark's legend. The wolf at her feet belied the sweet smile on her face.

A chorus of shouts behind them stirred the Baratheon party, the Starks striding forward to greet the newcomers. From the arms emblazoned on the young men's tunics, they were a Stark, Dayne and a Baratheon bastard. A Greyjoy rode up behind them, the wolves with them giving the tired smiles a beatific edge. But what rubbed salt in the wound- etched it deep in Cersei's heart- is when a Dornishwoman ran into the yard, skidding to a stop at Jaime's side.

And Jaime _smiled _at her! _Kissed _her! Dismounted his horse and drew her into his arms like he didn't want to let go!

It was all Cersei could do not to lose it right there!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to tell you guys. THIS FIC gave me the motivation to FINALLY start!  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/19442092#main


	4. Burn it down (to the ground)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you poor summer Southroners.
> 
> At least we get the Jon/Robb mating ceremony?

It's kind of hard not to laugh.

The whole bloody North _knows _Loras Tyrell is here at the behest of his grandmother, hoping to marry a man that befits his station and in a Kingdom that accepts such unions. 

The irony is, not one Northman would touch him.

Not because he's used goods, as the Southroners would term it.

No, because in the North, a true mating of heart, body and soul is not to be discarded or interfered with.

Olenna _bleeding _Tyrell is trying to do both.

If Loras were sincere in his wish to move on from the Stormlander, they might _try _to court him.

But he's not just mated- he's mated to the _Uncle _of Lord Gendry Storm and Lord Steffon Harlaw, the first being the Consort of a Princess of Winter, the second a treasured cousin of every Prince of Salt and Rock, the Consort of the _only _Princess of the same.

They'll let Loras play his games, but there's naught here, but safety for the pampered lordling, not with the men who call him kin being the first acknowledged Storm Kings since the Durrandons (and fine heirs or not, no one wants to risk a Lannister coming after either).

-

It burns to see the Targaryens.

If he hadn't sworn a gods' oath and weren't able to feel it push and pull with his every breath, every word, Robert would have killed them all by now. He'd start with Benjen Stark's woman for wearing a crown of winter roses! Then he'd move on to that prick's children, save Rhaenys for last just to see the Kingslayer scream. He would, Robert was certain, if the way he was dancing the little bitch around the room was any indication. 

He drinks his wine and sulks.

Lyanna is dancing with her Mormont namesake, both with their eyes shining. Brandon and Ned are dancing with Sansa and Arya; Theon Greyjoy carefully guides a pale Shiera Stark through the dance steps next to his mother swaying with her grandson. It's idyllic and beautiful, even with the Targaryen bastards giving him a wide berth.

It's the first night of the Attraengatt, Robb Stark and Jon fucking Dayne are the guests of honour, and they're holding hands as they wait for the sun to go down.

Once the sun finally goes down, Brandon claps his hands and announces grandly.

"We'll ask that you now make your way to the godswood to witness the mating of my Heir, Robb Stark, to my sister's son, Jon Dayne." He raises a glass and continues

"But first! A toast!" Greyjoy, having extricated himself from Benjen's little whore, has cleared his throat and roared

"The North Remembers! The Young Wolf! The White Wolfstar!" The Northerners and the Ironborn roar it back at him, once, twice, thrice, and then they boisterously file out of the hall and to the Godswood.

Which is now lit by torches, and before the weirwood in the center is a straw tick mattress, dressed with a heavily embroidered sheet. Despite the torchlight, Robert couldn't make out the design. Benjen Stark stood before the tree, his wife gliding over to him, whom he greeted with a kiss before one of Roberts' older bastards came to lead the whore away so Benjen could conduct the ceremony.

Jon Dayne is escorted into the Godswood by his parents, and his mother kisses his cheeks and father embraces him before they step back, hand in hand.

Ned and Brandon precede Robb, whose Mother meekly holds his arm, dropping it when the men he calls Sire and Father turn to him and hug him warmly. Catelyn hesitates, but kisses her son's cheek and pats the other, drawn away between her husband and his mate.

-

Smile creasing his face, Benjen looks to Shiera, who smiles back gently, warm love in every line of her face. Clearing his throat, the youngest of the Elder Starks led his nephews through their mating vows, carefully pronouncing every word of the tongue of their forefathers, ending with the proclamation and blessing it was his duty to give as officiant.

"I declare you, Robb, the Young Wolf of House Stark of Winterfell, and you, Jon; the White Wolfstar of House Dayne of the North, mates for life, to share of your bodies and hearts and lives together. It is my duty to proclaim you both Princes of Winter and the Torrentine, equal in all ways, lesser in none. From now until the end of your days together, I pray you have more joy than sorrow."

Together, the boys moved to kiss each other, Benjen moving away to wrap his arms around Shiera as the boys sank into the tick, shrouded as it was by Sansa's gift. And the North, the children of the Storm, the Ironborn, even the Southroners' watched in fascination as the boys claimed each other before the gods. If it were like any mating before it, there would be many sneaking away for some form of relief.

-

Jon trembled beneath Robb, clutching his mate's neck as he drove into him, growling when Jon cried out.

Of course, Robb was possessive.

This was what they'd wanted. Before.

Now, they could have it, and they weren't wasting it.

They wouldn't let anyone step between them.

Their family wouldn't allow it either.

.

It was only as he lay spent beneath Robb that Jon could believe they were mated. 

Finally, completely.

Parted and yet never parted.

.

_Because he could hear Robb's heartbeat if he tried._

-

After the feast and the mating ceremony, Robb hurried to get Jon away from prying eyes.

He had always been beautiful, even at the end, and Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon weren't the only sword swallowers who'd come to visit.

So he spirited his mate away and revelled in hearing his thoughts, his heartbeat.

It was priceless, this gift from the gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I quoted Star Trek. Sue me, it sounded suitably dramatic.


	5. Frost the iron and slice the tentacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa Stark takes Theon Greyjoy as her mate.  
You heard me right.

Arya crept through the halls of her Father's castle, on a mission.

Sansa was awake, of course, early though it was.

Lady and Nymeria tussled for a moment but settled by the fire.

With her sister smiling softly at her, it was hard to remember what was to come.

Still, it was the day of Sansa's mating, and Arya's was on the morrow.

It was one of several days worth celebrating.

-

Theon shuffled anxiously as Gendry fetched the gift he'd commissioned for Sansa.

It was a necklet, fashioned to reflect the coronet of Winter Roses that had been a gift from Lord Brandon and Lord Eddard for her nameday. Even if they couldn't take it home to the Isles, Sansa would still have the jewels to prove herself a Princess of Winter.

It wouldn't be a surprise, no, but that he'd been concerned about the history of Stark maidens outside the North- that he wanted better for Sansa- that would be what was seen and known. 

So, of course, as he handed it off to Shiera Stark to give to her niece, he was plucked from the room by his family, passed around for hugs and reassurances before he was dragged off by Nuncle Aeron to make sure he knew how the ceremony was to unfold.

Not many differences from a Northern ceremony, but enough to pause.

Once Aeron was done ragging on him, Theon hurried to Jon and Robb's shared chambers.

Robb greeted him at the door, smiling at Theon when he skidded to a halt.

The Ironborn had adamantly insisted that Northern traditions would take precedence for the Attraengatt so that he would be hunting for the feast today, and Robb had agreed to join him.

-

Robb felt he could finally breathe.

Jon was safe in his arms, his parents (all three of them) were sleeping or working within the castle, his siblings were waiting to be mated, and Robert had sworn a gods oath, which protected their Targaryen guests, once Jon's kin. Uncle Benjen was better than he'd ever been, Aunt Lyanna had _survived._

Now, he smoothed the furs, their mating shroud and even the thick blanket Arya had woven for them, ensuring Jon would be kept warm despite his leaving the bed.

Dressing quickly, he exited their chambers, smiling when Grey Wind climbed onto the bed and Ghost padded behind him, both rising from their spot before the fireplace soundlessly.

-

Robert studied the comings and goings, still confused and frustrated.

Brandon had thwarted Robert's plans to marry Joanna to Robb and had firmly told him he was not subjecting Sansa to so young a husband as Tommen, that Arya had chosen one of Robert's older sons. Lyanna had been equally firm in her insistence that her nieces have their choices. 

And what could he say to that? Lyanna had insisted, and the wraith-like Shiera had quietly but pointedly reminded Brandon that Torrhen had insisted on a treaty, even when he knelt to the Iron Throne.

Jaime Lannister (the fucking interfering cunt) had inserted smugly

"There's also the fact that the Targaryen's still live." Rhaenys had dragged him away to Cersei's displeasure.

In any case, preparations for the feast happened, the Greyjoy boy and Stark heir hunting together while Jon Dayne drilled the younger Starks in the arms yard, Brandon, Ned and even Catelyn watching the training with critical eyes.

(Catelyn was watching and comparing it to the training she'd seen in her youth, whereas Brandon and Ned were considering what their sons needed to know for the Long Night that was still coming)

-

The ceremony that night was only a little odder than the one the night before.

Theon and Sansa mixed their blood in a cup of seawater, giving it to Aeron to pour at the base of the weirwood tree, giving a blessing in the Sea God's Tongue before Shiera stepped up. And she traded soft smiles before she conducted the ceremony, as Theon and Sansa had asked because she was a well-loved child of two crowns. They wanted the luck they felt her blessing would bring, they'd said.

When the vows were said, and both looked to Shiera, whose eyes crinkled at the corners before she pronounced

"Theon, Prince of Salt and Rock, Sansa, Princess of Winter, I pronounce you mates for life, equal in all ways, lesser in none. May you know more joy than sorrow." They kissed, then, Shiera stepping away in the same fashion as Benjen had, the night previous, their sink into a shrouded straw tick no less erotic than that of the mating the night before.


	6. With you (we're through with anyone else)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya of House Stark and Gendry Storm-King are to be mated before the Heart Tree of Winterfell.
> 
> Also Catelyn is behaving, Lysa and Jon Arryn are happy and Renly's a pouty little bitch.

Careful grey met solemn blue.

Once again, they were greeting the morning in the quiet of the chamber of the one getting mated. Sansa was carefully braiding the dark waves of her sister's mane, eyes on the still wrapped diadem, necklet and wristlet that Gendry had created for her. Aunts Lyanna and Shiera were due in soon, as was their mother, but not yet. Even their new little sisters weren't due yet.

"It will not be... easy to walk this road. But... mating is worth it." Arya meets her sister's eyes again, and maybe, if she were anyone else... Sansa's words would have been lost, as little Sarra and Cerena tumbled in, shrieking when they saw the jewels Sansa had paused, putting on Arya to issue her warning. Lady and Nymeria perked up as the tiny direwolf pups toddled after their mistresses. 

Oddly, though, Sansa knew her sister had heard her, even as their aunts and mother arrived.

-

Gendry observed as the trestle tables were set and his soon to be goodbrothers stood nearby, their gazes calculating. Jon was leaning against the wall while Robb stood next to Theon, the eldest two conferring in low voices over how today's festivities should proceed. Now that they were mated, Robb and Jon were expected to take on more duties as the next Northlords. As Victarion had sent Theon to be a ward rather than a hostage, he and Sansa were welcome, even expected to serve as a Princess of Winter and her Consort for a few more before coming to the Iron Islands. Bran and Rickon were expected to take on posts as the Lords of Winterfell and Moat Cailin. At the same time, he and Arya had already received orders to depart Winterfell for Essos within a year of their mating so he could investigate smithing Valyrian Steel. 

He'd never expected to find a family like this when he'd agreed to the reset.

But he and his mother had been rushed to Winterfell before she'd ever fallen ill, and he'd been lumped into the young lords' lessons from the start. Though, he'd been expected to work on his trade because he'd been so good at it, Before. Theon had taught him to fight with knives in exchange for learning to mend them, and Robb and Jon had both insisted they learn to repair swords, as they'd needed it and not known how, in the Before.

And today, after a lifetime of following the Old Gods and living the Old Way, he would finally be mated to Arya, recognized as the rightful Storm King by his fellows. 

-

Brandon sat to a private meal with his mate and his wife. Catelyn had been subdued since they'd announced the Attraengatt, but generally more agreeable then she'd been in years. Ned looked as handsome as ever, of course, relaxed after watching the little ones train.

Benjen, Lyanna, and their mates all filed in as he and Ned were pulling out the wine, and Catelyn slunk away.

Perhaps, if she hadn't tried to manipulate things in her favour for so long, they could have trusted the Trout. But they couldn't and didn't, so Brandon dismissed those thoughts and sighed gratefully as Ned sank into his lap. Arthur had gently deposited Lya on the settee beside Benjen and Shiera, the Dornishman prowling the perimeter of the room, brooding as the Stark brothers shared heavy looks. Lyanna was making faces at her tired goodsister, who was curled into Benjen's chest with a wool blanket draped over her slim frame. Ned nudged Brandon to lay back in his chair, getting up to call a maid to get a cup of tea for Shiera.

Arthur and Brandon traded looks, concerned with how pale Shiera was, but Benjen shook his head and wrapped the blanket tighter around his mate.

It... It _hadn't _occurred to Brandon before, but maybe Benjen and Shiera's lack of children stemmed from more than his youngest brother's reluctance to have to allocate inheritances for sons and settle marriages for daughters. No one had ever questioned Benjen coddling his mate- it was the Stark way- but if she had been ill for years, it was no surprise there had been no children.

The conversation began, eventually, but everyone in the room kept an eye on the sleepy Shiera.

-

Lysa bit back an irritated sigh when her sister was announced. The Attraengatt had been lovely so far but had tired her husband. Jon had insisted they attend the Attraengatt, though Bronze Yohn had warned them there were few matches to be made. 

She wasn't sure why, but it seemed her sister had become the unhappy one. By rights, it should have been Lysa, after her father forced her to lose her child and sent Petyr away. But Jon had been kind and patient, had doted on her as her father never had, had confessed to wishing for a 'mating' after Ned had told him of his parents. 

Catelyn, however, had not listened to anything the Starks had to say.

No matter how good Jon had been to her, Lysa couldn't deny that if _she'd _married Ned and had the chance to mate him and Brandon, she'd have taken it.

Tuning out her sister's prattle, Lysa looked over her papers, not bothering to hide her smile. The Valemen had been wary of a Riverlander learning their ways, but when Jon had insisted she was his equal, as good as his mate, they had welcomed her. Rya Royce, the late wife of Bronze Yohn, had been a friend to Lysa, had counselled her through raising Robert's poor girl.

It wasn't until her youngest nieces trotted in, direwolf pups in tow, that Lysa even remembered she'd been invited to Arya's dressing room to prepare for the ceremony. Sarra and Cerena shrieked joyfully when Lysa knelt to greet their thick-furred companions.

Once in Arya's rooms, Lysa stayed to the background, corralling the young girls and giggling in time with Cat's goodsisters, aware that though she was as closely related to the children, these aunts had helped to raise them. The girl in question seemed grumpy about slipping into the grey gown her elder sister had prepared for her. 

-

Catelyn felt tears prick her eyes as she escorted her daughter to the Heart Tree for the second time in two days. Arya was met by the Baratheon bastard, who offered her his weapon and accepted hers in return before they turned to that night's officiants, Steffon Harlaw and Asha Greyjoy, their son held in his mother's arms.

It hurt to watch Arya marry below her station. She'd been settled by the fact that even if he was a man, Lyanna's son was a Stark and a Dayne, and Theon might yet be Lord of the Iron Islands if he won the Kingsmoot. Gendry Storm was neither highborn nor incapable of giving Arya children, and Catelyn dreaded the fate to befall her daughter, married to such a man.

So absorbed was she in Arya's mating that Catelyn failed to see her uncle looking at an older Blackwood man with astonishment. Andor had arrived late, but he'd extended his and his liege's greetings and congratulations on the matings that had happened and would happen. And, if Brynden had to ruthlessly lock down the part of his heart that ached to see Andor again, looking well and happy and accompanied by a handful of others in Blackwood colours... well, it wasn't his business to tell.

-

Arya ignored her mother's despair to focus on Gendry.

Her Gendry who saw all of her and had _stayed. _

They would leave after the Attraengatt, for Essos, but for now... For now, she was a Princess of Winter mated to the true Storm, King.

There was time enough for other things.

-

Renly was _not _sulking.

Loras had ignored him the entire Attraengatt, and Robb Stark had mated the cousin he adored. Lord Brandon was long mated to his younger brother- and it hurt to breathe. 

He couldn't fucking breathe.

What good was Storm's End if he couldn't have Loras?


	7. Song of Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gods... Might have something to say.
> 
> But... they also might not.

_The Otherworld- Plains of Idyll, the Mirrorpool_

Despite the entirely unwelcoming landscape of the Plains, the Seven who are One trudged to the Mirrorpool. They were permitted there, sometimes, but it was a place of the Old Gods and Goddesses, of Seasons and their devotees. It was beautiful in it's way, the savage land not what the Maiden or the Mother would have wished to traverse, but still beautiful.

On this particular day, in this specific part of the Otherworld, the Gods and Goddesses were peering calmly into the Mirrorpool. The Storm God scowled, seeing his descendant unhappy. The Harvest Goddess frowned, gently, but she didn't speak. Further away, the Drowned God was speaking in low tones to the Godstarks, the brothers who had achieved Godhood in the age of Heroes. Other notable mortals were, of course, there, but the Starks...

Their relationship with the Old Gods was far different. Where the Houses of the Westerosi Reach were descended of the Harvest Goddess, she was only so partial, where the Daynes and Starks and Blackwoods were descended of men and women who had had families _before _attaining godhood. Or, as in the case of the current Storm God, he had been the replacement of his predecessor, the father of his wife-consort.

Even now, the Mother and Father saw how the Old Gods favoured their Houses. The Durrandons would be born again, of Gendry Storm, and the blood would flow from Steffon Harlaw's line, the Starks' would prosper as they never had, the Daynes had spent well over a decade, merely breeding and loving instead of worshipping as was proper.

The Maiden hid a scowl of her own.

She had sprung into being because they had been created, no one knew when or how, but she was to be a maid for all eternity, and _oh, _but it hurt. She had watched maidens for generations, and though many had received the answers they wished for and only gotten pain for it, the odd one who got what she wished for and it was _good... _It stung. Like watching Asha Greyjoy court her Stormlord, and to have him joyously take the son they'd created and hold him close. Or to watch this generation of Stark-wolves claim the mates they adored.

Yes, she wanted that... and she'd never get it.

-

_Winterfell, the sixth morning of the Attraengatt_

Jaime padded towards the room he had been assigned when he arrived with Benjen. He had practiced in the yard rather late this morning, mostly because Robb Stark and Jon Dayne had decided to put Theon Greyjoy and Gendry Storm through their paces and had requested he correct any errors and both sides. Rhaenys and Cersei had both watched his session with the young males before he walked the youngest Starks through their weapon forms. Barthogan had stubbornly insisted his 'brother' Theon assist him until the Ironborn had patiently endorsed Jaime's skill with the sword.

He knew Rhaenys thought it was sweet that his Commander's nephews adored him. Cersei, on the other hand, had desired to speak with him.

Thankfully, Benjen had strode into the arms yard and ordered him to prepare for tonight before Cersei could demand anything of him. Shiera had quietly dispersed everyone and directed Rhaenys to another part of the keep.

Given that the moment he opened the door and closed it, he heard a snicker from the canopied bed at the depths of his chambers, he knew where Rhaenys had slunk away to. Cersei did not know this tower existed, even had she travelled in the reset- it had been built by Brandon during the Restoration of Winterfell and contained a series of chambers designed for guard-captains and their families. Or, as had recently become necessary, housing visiting Princes and their Princesses.

Or, in Rhaenys and Asha's cases, Princesses and their Princes.

Carefully, Jaime shrugged off his furs and slung them on the airing frame next to his armour stand, chuckling when Rhaenys poured herself out of his bed and crossed the floor, still dressed in beautiful morning gown. Gentle fingers worked on the buckles of his armour, her low hum warming his blood, and he hung it carefully, leaning back when Rhaenys' fingers danced across his chest, lightly plucking at lacings as she went, before coming down his chest and working on his breeches while he worked his shirt off his shoulders. Smiling, Rhaenys stepped back while he shucked his boots and breeches.

When he finally stood before her, naked as the day he'd been born, Rhaenys dropped into a postured, perfect curtsy, rising to fall to her knees. Her skirts made the _shushing _sound so much fabric would make, but Jaime didn't hear it. He was looking at her with wary awe that would have made a shyer woman blush.

Carefully, precisely, Rhaenys crossed her wrists over her heart and opened her hands, pulling them down and lifting them as if making an offer. Hands trembling, Jaime unclasped the necklace strung around his throat, pressing it to his own heart, and then his lips, whole body shaking as he gave her the pendant and chain. The locket itself wasn't extravagant. Simply made, it was engraved with a single lioness rampant, but when Rhaenys forced it open, she found a few strands of Jaime's hair, with 'Hear me roar' on the inside.

It was a Westerland custom that had fallen from favour as the Old Gods were forgotten. Jaime himself had not been aware of it until Gendry had approached him, saying only that as the Smith King, it was his duty to ensure his peers had what they needed for courtship. Jaime himself had dreamed that night, dreamed of a history and a time and place where hedgewitches had been rampant in the West, and it had been custom for a man to gift his wife an enchanted favour so she would know if he fell.

She didn't know it yet, but Gendry had also gifted Jaime a set of throwing daggers so perfect for his Sun Dragon it was as if the smith had plucked it from his mind.

That in mind, Jaime fastened the pendant around Rhaenys' throat, drawing her up and into a kiss, tempted to pull out the stays of her gown but mindful that the pretty fabric had likely cost an equally pretty penny. With all care, even though his hands shook to touch this young, gorgeous woman, he peeled each layer from her skin, drowning in Rhaenys, her taste, her touch...

Oh, it was too much.

She had drawn him in with sweet smiles and coy stares, had made him, kept him hers with a gentle heart and sure hands. All his sins, all he'd never thought he could be, with her trust and belief and _love- _it was too much.

Maybe those in the Light of the Seven believed a man was meant to lead...

... but Jaime would drown a thousand times in Rhaenys, in her laugh, her sighs and moans as she rode him, her squeaks as she clenched around him.

-

Robb kind of wanted to snarl at Jon.

Well.

It's not _Jon's _fault, 'Princess' Myrcella had requested his help as Jon started sucking on his cock. It's also not 'Princess' Myrcella's fault that his mate liked to nurse on his cock at least briefly every few days.

It _is _Jon's fault that he had decided his attentions needed to happen while Robb was at the desk of their shared solar.

However, Myrcella's request for help is unusual.

"Lord Robb, I-" she stops, and in further halting sentences, explains her wish to marry securely, as she is aware Robert is not actually her father and her only advantage is that she is a Lannister bastard. Jon even stops, pulling his mouth off to rest his head on Robb's thighs. At first, both males are unsure exactly what she wants. They realize they have the clout to get her into a Northern marriage- hells, Jon's younger brother Jaeson is near enough in age- but they both know that's not what she wants.

No, they're aware she's been looking at a certain Westerman lord like he hung the moon.

Robb promises to discuss this with his mate and return to her with definite answers.

Myrcella leaves, Jon crawls out from under the desk as Robb pushes his chair out, fixing his lacings and opening his arms for Jon to cuddle into his chest.

There's a ceremony tonight, but it'll be less grand, now that all the Stark's are mated. Jaime and Rhaenys hadn't wanted all the pomp and circumstance anyway but had been honoured to have it offered.


	8. Won't let go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran and Meera get mated, we see a teeny bit of the Tyrells, and Bran and Rickon's future is disclosed.

_Fourth Morning of the Attraengatt_

She had miscalculated.

Olenna Redwyne Tyrell stewed over this for the third morning in a row. She had gambled Willas, Margaery and Loras’ marriages on this ‘marriage festival.’ Because her Maester had mistranslated the word, they were quite possibly without the highborn matches they had hoped for.

Robb Stark had married his cousin, Sansa Stark had married Theon Greyjoy, Arya Stark had married a Baratheon bastard celebrated as either the Storm or Smith King. While tonight, Brandon Stark, the younger (the Wise Wolf, apparently) was to marry Meera Reed.

And tomorrow, Rickon Stark would marry Lyanna Mormont.

A gamble wasted, indeed!

-

While her grandmother muttered epithets into her tea, Margaery was striding into the courtyard where the Stark’s and their goodfamilies were gathered for a ride. Sansa Stark looked distinctive in Stark colours augmented by a golden Kraken belt. Her sister, Arya, was equally distinctive on her steel grey warhorse when compared to Sansa’s palfrey and Meera and Lyanna’s fleet-footed garron-palfrey crossbreeds.

The yard fell quiet when Maron Greyjoy, the only unmated First Man of an age to be so, led a horse up to Margaery. The Lady in question felt she would drown in Maron’s gorgeous eyes, could barely catch her breath as he lifted her easily into the saddle. Sansa flipped her fiery braid over her shoulder and hollered.

“Get moving, goodbrother mine, else we’ll hunt all the game!”

Cursing, Maron swung himself up onto his larger destrier, kicking the poor animal in the ribs as the Princesses of Winter rode out, whooping and hollering like hillwomen, their men laughing in their saddles.

It just felt right for Margaery to nudge her horse forward, hesitantly voicing her joy, shrieking when Arya whipped her horse around to charge past Margaery, startling her mare into a gallop.

-

Ned watched the younglings trot back into the yard, tack jingling while they chattered. Talla and even Margaery seemed more at ease with the rest of the young people. It was good, he thought, noting critically that Meera and Lyanna’s flower crowns were wilting.

Hmm. Have to talk to Gendry about that.

Dismissing the concern for later, Ned walked out of the shadows, smiling when Sansa and Arya bounded up to him. Exchanging hugs and kisses with his daughters and then his gooddaughters, Ned enquired about the preparations for tonight’s ceremony, winking at Sansa when Meera frowned as he pointed out her crown was wilting.

Bran scowled at him ferociously, older than he’d ever really had a chance to grow previously, swooping in to tug Meera away for an assignation, no doubt, to the catcalls of his siblings and goodbrothers. Rickon sighed and promised Lyanna he’d pick her the roses for a new crown for the ceremony.

Jon shook his head at Robb, warning him off offering, while Gendry and Theon traded smug looks, obviously proud of already crowning their Stark mates as Princesses of Winter.

-

Bran was nervous.

What if Meera didn’t want to be crowned a Princess of Winter in truth? He was to be the Wise Wolf, Lord Commander of the Winterfell Guards, the First Advisor to Robb and Jon as Kings of Winter in all but name while Rickon was Lord Commander of Moat Cailin, Arya the Mistress of Whispers and Sansa as the North’s emissary with the Ironborn, protecting their trade interests at sea.

To do that, he and Rickon needed to crown their mates as Princesses of Winter, _as was their right by Torrhen’s treaty, _so all the First Men would accede those wives every honour. It wasn’t fair that men didn’t treat women with respect South of the neck and north of Dorne. But this… these titles evened things out just enough to protect his Meera and Rickon’s Lyanna.

If they would accept it.

The Stark name was why Torrhen’s treaty had been written. The rank of Princess of Winter had been meant to protect lost Stark maids from those who would treat them ill. But Starks-by-mating had to accept it all- vow of fealty, cloak of protection and crown of love- for it to count.

His worries were for naught, of course.

His parents escorted him to the Heart Tree, and Howland and Jyana escorted Meera. After their marriage vows, his Lord Father and namesake, Brandon, stepped forward, motioning for Aunt Lyanna and Aunt Shiera to come forward.

“Before this night, at this Attraengatt, we witnessed the mating of Princes or Princesses of Winter, of the Sea and the Storm. High matings, all told. And though Lady Meera Reed of House Stark is highborn as they come, descended of Marsh Kings as is Our son, she is not daughter to a Lord Paramount or a King.”

He turned and motioned to Aunt Lyanna again.

“Our son has sworn his fealty and honour to Lady Meera, but by Torrhen’s Treaty must cloak her in his protection and crown her with his love to make her a Princess of Winter in truth. Lyanna?”

Aunt Lyanna cleared her throat and said a blessing in the Old Tongue before she handed him a light but heavily embroidered cloak. He had to choke back a gasp. This was the cloak Uncle Benjen had cloaked Aunt Shiera with. Hastily wrapping Meera in it, Bran waited for a beat, then two, and took the crown his Aunt Shiera him with a whispered blessing of her own.

He put it on Meera’s head, not even surprised anymore that Gendry had fashioned the neat diadem. With tears sparkling in her eyes, Meera looked up at him and was overcome. Bran fell to is knees and captured her lips in a kiss.

Of course, that kiss was only a prelude to what was to come, but it was nice, nonetheless, that it was a mating of the heart, not convenience.

-

He hadn’t meant for it to, but bitterness had spread in Loras’ heart.

Oh, but it hurt to have Renly turn from him. His heart might have bled, were he any other man. But now, Lord Brandon had told him.

“Not one of the Northlords will touch you, Tyrell. You’re mated to the Uncle of my Goodson, and there’s not much you can do about it.” And there’s nothing _to _do, Renly has avoided him since the first day of the Attraengatt, and Grandmother is deep in all her cups, cursing their luck that this wasn’t working as they’d wanted.

And Loras?

Loras still dreams of Wildfire.

Dreams of days and nights and _years _without his Baratheon.

He’s not getting away this time


	9. Where Lions Fear to Tread (and Roses bloom strong)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei. Jaime. Rhaenys. Loras.

She seethed.

Those fucking whores!

All this time, they had been lazing under her brother's eye- had seduced him into going along with all this madness!

But she couldn't do anything.

Not yet.

Maybe...

Maybe not ever.

The boy was Rhaegar come again, and the girl... Much as it burned to admit, she was beautiful. Had Cersei been into women...

But she wasn't.

But the girl was fucking Jaime.

Would be fucking him even now, in all likelihood.

Killing her would remove her, but it risked Jaime's ire.

And _that _burned all the more, being careful of that bitch whore to avoid her twin's anger.

-

He had wed her before.

She wouldn't remember it, but at Aerys' behest, after he had been knighted, Jaime had wed a then-child Rhaenys in the Light of the Seven. Jaime had protested, of course, that she was too young, would not be served with a marriage. It had been the look in Aerys' eyes that had stopped him. The worn man teetering on the edge of madness had cautioned him, had told him he had rare moments of lucidity-the gods punishing him for what he had done and been in a life that was no longer.

Tywin, Aerys had told him, would spare Rhaenys. So long he got the Raven that proclaimed the daughter of House Targaryen was bound to the Lion of Lannister, Tywin would permit nothing to harm the girl, on the promise of royal blood for the Rock. Aerys had laughed bitterly, had told Jaime that what he and Rhaenys did after was their business, but he needed to know, in his lucid moments, that Jaime Lannister was sworn to most innocent of his line.

Rhaella had sat silently at the King's side, face blank.

Jaime wasn't sure if Rhaella had ever loved her brother-husband-king, and now wasn't the time to find out. But he did think she maybe respected that he was taking steps to protect their grandchild.

Aerys and Rhaella were long dead.

And now he was mating Rhaenys Targaryen in the Way of the Old Gods.

Carefully, Jaime slung the rucksack over his back.

He had a ceremony to get to.

-

He waited for her, at the Weirwood, a brazier crackling to the side.

Robb Stark stood tall next to him, and not far, was Jon Dayne, holding two goblets.

Before her brother could begin the traditional words, Jaime raised a hand and pulled a scroll from his rucksack, declaring

"I swear on my life this document is true. It records my wedding in the Light of the Seven to Rhaenys Targaryen, by the decree of King Aerys and blessing of Queen Rhaella." he turned to Rhaenys and put the document in her hands, dropping to his knees to beseech

"I would have you mate me for no reason but that it is your wish, Rhaenys. Yes, we were married in front of the New Gods, but if that is not your wish, throw that scroll into the brazier and turn from me for all time."

Aegon snatched the paper from her, and Rhaenys stared into Jaime's eyes.

She probably should have been angry.

But she knew why he was doing this _now. _

If ever a time came that their mating was questioned, they would have this.

Still, if no one knew of it, it was not really theirs to have, now was it?

Clearing her throat, Rhaenys took Jaime's hand and made her own declaration

"I would have our marriage stand, so that no matter where we are in Westeros, the Gods know us as a pair." His eyes softened, and he pulled her into a kiss.

Aegon cleared his throat somewhat impatiently, wanting the ceremony to be over with.

-

Loras shifted on his feet, impatient.

He was tired of nightmares after ceremonies full of love.

Watching Jaime Lannister claim Rhaenys Targaryen as his mate as well as his wife had been the last straw.

When Renly walked into the bedchamber reserved for him in the Baratheon suite of rooms, he spoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Oops.  
Yeah, Loras and Renly's chapter will be out September 29, barring any unforeseen problems.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write something you loved and then take it down? Check the archive at THIS link:  
https://drive.google.com/open?id=1Vlb-lV0rd1YhIdcWLHcEl6-DRA9eMhWO
> 
> if you were wanting snippets of something or other  
https://Calliopevale.blogspot


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